The Exiles of Narnia
by Dr. Emma Hamish Winchester
Summary: When the Pevensie children returned through the wardrobe at the end of the second/first book, they had been kings and queens in Narnia for twenty years. How do they cope with the sudden return to their old lives? Rated T to be safe. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW
1. The Pevensies Return

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for reading. Just so you know: this fic is based entirely on the books, so if you have only seen the movies, I recommend you go read them, otherwise you might find yourself rather confused. Anyway, I hope that you like it, and that we continue on this journey together for a long time to come.

The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters are not mine, they belong to the Clive Staples Lewis estate.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Pevensies Return

* * *

Four children came tumbling out of an old wooden wardrobe and now sat on the floor, looking about bewilderedly. They looked quite ordinary now, in their skirts and sweaters and uncomfortable stiff collars, and one should have thought them to be quite as ordinary as their appearances suggested, until the older girl spoke, slowly rising from the floor, "What is this place? It does seem most curious." She looked about the room, then down at her clothes, running her hands down her torso in horrified wonder, "I do believe… I am a child." She looked at the older, tow-headed boy, "Brother, what make you of this?"

He shook his head, opening his mouth to answer, when the younger boy suddenly jumped to his feet, speaking in an alarmed whisper, "By your leave, my royal brother and sisters, I must beg silence!" Slowly, one hand held out protectively behind him, he crept towards the heavy oak door, "Dost thou hear voices?"

The four listened with bated breath, and indeed there came a woman's voice, high and unpleasant, proud as a peacock, as though she herself owned the house she was showing, "Yes, indeed. The house was renovated late in the last century, the… eighties, I believe, to serve as the residence of my employer Digory Kirk." Pause. "No, I am afraid you may not see him. He takes few visitors. Anyhow, if we move on down the hall…" The voices faded out of earshot.

And almost simultaneously they remembered the curious sequence of events that had taken them from here originally, and realized where it was that they were. For indeed, these were the Pevensies, long since grown into Kings and Queens of fine estate, and now returned by the wardrobe in the very hour they had left.

"Sir," said the little girl to King Edmund, inching forward worriedly, "Do you think ist possible? Could we be in England?" Queen Lucy, stoic and brave in the face of a hundred battles, looked confused and almost ready to cry.

It was the other boy who answered, "I-" The High King stopped, hand to his throat, as his voice emitted at a very different octave from that at which it had been a few minutes before. Clearing his throat, he continued, "I fear it may well be, Madame, for I believe that I now remember this room, and indeed yon wardrobe. I think it to be that very one which brought us to Narnia when we were but children."

As he said this Queen Susan continued to stare at her surroundings in shock, before springing into the wardrobe to beat at the back, "No, no! Take me back! You cannot do this! Take me back!" Peter rushed in, embracing and dragging the golden-haired girl away to the floor, where she lay in his arms, sobbing, "Courage, dear sister. We shall find a way back home soon, I swear it." She only continued to cry, although no one could get her to say the cause of her distress. Finally she ran from the room, and being unable to find a couch or bed in that half-empty house, she curled up in a corner in an abandoned room and wept there until she could no longer stand coughing from the dust balls.

The other three were left alone. Edmund was the next to speak, "It would seem to me that we should begin our search ere long."

Lucy nodded, "We are in agreement, brother."

"And to that end, I say we find the owner of this house and yon… most remarkable furniture, for in all likelihood he knows something of note."

Peter looked over at it, "Indeed. How he came to own such an item must be quite a tale."

The little girl once more spoke, "Perhaps he is an exile, like us." They were silent after that, the word _exile_ settling over them. It had such a finalistic knell to it. Somberly they exited the room, Peter's hand comfortingly rested on his sister's shoulder, the three huddled together for security in the face of a strange and alien land.

* * *

They walked the halls cautiously, the boys' right hands held habitually ready near their hips, until Lucy pointed out that, given that they had no swords, the motion was rather pointless. At her reminder the pair blushed, noticing what they were doing, proceeding to fidget awkwardly before continuing down the dark, musty passage.

Peter's face had been screwed up in thought, and he suddenly turned to the others, "Professor Kirke!"

The others appeared confused, their distant memories still slowly working their way to the surface of their brains, "To whom do you refer?"

He spoke excitedly, "Our great-uncle! Fie, thou remembrest him not? We were sent here to him to protect us from the bombings! He is the one we must seek."

They agreed with him, continuing down the hall. Lucy, however, trailed behind, looking confused and muttering to herself, "Whatever is a 'bombing?'"

They at length found the old man, sitting in his study, reading a book. The trio paused as they entered, looking about them with wondering eyes, still having to remind themselves of each item's name.

Professor Kirke peeked over the top of his cloudy beard at the intrusion, pushing his glasses lower on his nose to get a better look. Noticing his attention, the children bowed and curtsied, and Peter spoke, "My Lord. 'Tis well to meet thee, after so long. How fare you this day?"

If the old man thought their behavior was a bit odd, he didn't show it. He smiled, "I 'fare' quite as well as I did." His brow scrunched up in knowing confusion, "But I saw you only a few hours ago. What could have possibly changed since then?" He paused, "You haven't broken something, have you?"

Queen Lucy could no longer stand the suspense. "Where did you obtain that wardrobe?" She blurted out.

He paused, removing his glasses and setting his book on the table beside him, "Oh, nowhere. Just a silly thing I picked up ages ago." He smiled wistfully, standing to peruse the shelves, "It was given to me by a most remarkable individual."

The younger boy spoke up, "Please, sir, we must know. 'Tis most cruel of you not to tell us."

"Cruel? Cruel? You appear to have most odd definition of 'cruel,' young man." He turned to them, eyeing them with a piercing expression, "Why do you want to know?" He paused, "Did you have another adventure?"

They were silent, studying the floor. Finally Edmund responded, "Indeed we have, sir."

The group descended once more into silence. Finally the old man spoke, "What was Narnia like?" He asked, an odd, longing look tempering the sparkle of his old eyes.

Peter responded, "It is a fine country, rich and fair, though it was not so when we found it."

The Professor looked sharply up, subtlety yet clearly alarmed, "What do you mean?"

Lucy spoke up, "When we first came there it was ruled over by a most wicked queen, a giantess called Jadis who had placed a dreadful curse over all the land, whereby it was always winter, from the furthest reaches of the Northern Wastes down almost to the border of Calormen. However she was defeated many years ago."

Professor Kirke seemed visibly shaken, and Peter spoke concernedly, "Sir, are you quite well?"

The old man waved a hand dismissively, "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I just… need to be alone for a while. Why don't you all go play? It is a most beautiful day outside, much too beautiful for young people to spend in a dusty old house like this. Go on, go on."

The trio hesitantly departed the room, Peter bowing automatically before turning and following the others.

Digory stared into space, tears lightly dusting his eyes, "By the Lion… Jadis." His face sank into his hands as he spoke, "What have I done? Oh Aslan, what have I done?"


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Hello everyone. I am so, so sorry for the long wait. I have had horrible writers block on this, particularly the last transitional bits. Anyway, here it is, and I promise you will get more soon. **Quihi** : Thank you for the edits. They were appreciated. I can assure you, we will get more about Digory and Jadis soon. (Spoilers!) **Guest** : Glad you like it. Here you go! **Glenstorm63** : I agree, and we are going to get some of that soon. Here is the next chapter. Sorry it took so long. **Alicia Olivia Mirza** : Thanks! Have some more! **Duchess of Beruna** : Thank you. The old English, by the way, will slowly be transitioning into 1940's English as they spend more time on Earth. **Nimrodel626** : Well, thank you, and I hope that you continue to read as I get more posted.

PS: I was rereading the books and noticed that despite the illustrations, Susan has black hair. I will fix last chapter as soon as I get around to it. In the meantime, in canon, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy have blond hair; and Susan has black. Thank you for your patience, and for reading, following, and favoriting this story.

I do not own Narnia or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 2: In Which the Truth Comes Out and a Great Many Things are Learned

* * *

Peter awoke the next morning, momentarily confused and disoriented by his unfamiliar surroundings. Instinctively he reached for Rhindon, normally hung on the bedpost beside him, only to find the sword missing. A moment later he remembered where he was and what had happened.

He felt extremely changed. The lesser air of our world had begun to work on him, further turning him from the great swordsman and king into a normal, if quite mature and confident, young schoolboy.

He noticed a long mirror sitting in a far corner, and rose from bed to approach it. He had found himself quite exhausted the previous night, and so he had merely stripped off his clothes and collapsed in bed. Consequently he hadn't seen a mirror and now wished to know what he looked like.

The view that greeted him was very different from that to which he was used, or even from his coronation painting in which he was approximately the same age he was now. Gone was the well-muscled 28-year-old soldier, gone were the scars that had increasingly crisscrossed his torso ever since the war with Jadis. In its place was a thirteen-year-old boy, the tired, sleepy circles under his eyes and short, tousled blond hair accentuating the comparatively thin body. It was as though the last fifteen years had never happened, yet he still felt the same inside.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair, studying his new visage. A knock at the door drew him across the room, and he was greeted by Edmund, also significantly younger than he had noticed him being the day before, when the shock of their return had largely overshadowed other changes.

"Yes?" He said tiredly, leaning against the doorframe in the manner of one not yet properly awake. "What is it?"

Edmund was staring, "My Lord, you are yet abed? That's a surprise. I expected you would wake before me." He paused, noticing the vaguely annoyed look on his brother's face, "Right. Well, there is breakfast downstairs. Lucy's cooking. So you might want to get dressed and come down."

Peter smiled at him encouragingly, "Very well. I thank you. I shall be down in a moment."

Once more alone, he turned his attention to the tall dresser in his room, hoping vainly that he would be able to find something vaguely familiar. His clothes from the previous night lay on the floor where they had fallen, a habit from years of palace servants. The boy stumbled over them, and sighing placed them on a chair.

* * *

He finally made his way down to the kitchen, taking in the odd scene as he entered. Lucy was cooking eggs, the six-year-old standing on a chair to reach the stove. Edmund sat on a counter, fiddling with the dials on the wireless, annoying static fluctuating wildly with some manner of equally annoying, bizarre, rhythmic music. Susan, sitting at the table, huffed in irritation, "Brother, will you stop fiddling with that thing? You are not going to find anything decent."

"I am merely attempting to find something other than this racket! Good morning, Peter."

He walked over to the table, "Good morning." He picked up the newspaper from where Susan had discarded it, "Are you reading this?"

The girl dragged her attention from the radio noise for a moment, "Um, no. Edmund, will you shut that thing off?!"

The boy shushed them as a tinny voice struggled over the radio waves, _"… German and Allied forces have now engaged near Crete. German forces have also invaded the channel islands, where civilian casualties continue to rise after demilitarization of that area…"_

"By the Lion!"

"… _Bombing continues in London, and brave volunteers have turned out in force to battle the growing destruction…"_

The dispatch continued, but no one was really listening. Susan spoke, her voice quiet and troubled, "I had forgotten about the war."

Lucy replied as she approached the table, "I think we all had."

Edmund pushed himself off the counter, walking over to the table to sit down. "Well, not to worry. We got through the wardrobe before, we shall again. All will soon be righted, I am sure of it."

Susan glared at him, stabbing at her eggs with her fork. "Of course if we had just stayed home we wouldn't have a problem at all."

The boy stared at her, "What is that supposed to mean?"

The black-haired girl glowered as her eyes locked with her brother's, "I believe we all remember whose idea this hunt was."

Dead silence followed her statement as both girls' eyes traveled to Edmund and Peter's fingers tightened around his newspaper. The younger boy was quiet, then finally responded, "Well, that was a perfectly rotten thing to say!" He paused, "What is wrong, Susan? There has been something strange in you since we returned. You are not yourself."

"I do not know what you are talking about."

He gave her a look, as if to say, _Sure you don't._ Finally she sighed.

"Do you remember Baltan?"

"M-hm. The nephew of King Lune." He paused, "The two of you are friends as I recall."

"Well…" She sighed. "He came with the delegation a few weeks ago, and... We fell in love."

That got their attention. Edmund leaned forward, "You fell in… what?"

"He asked me to marry him, Edmund! A few days ago. Right before we left." She paused, "I said yes."

All three stared at her, torn between congratulations, shock, and commiseration. Poor Susan, who had suffered so much heartbreak, had nearly found happiness, only to have it torn away.

"He was going to ask Peter about it when we returned from the hunt." She looked ready to cry, "I was going to get married, and now I'll never see him again!"

"Does he have a nice bray?" Edmund asked musingly, never one able to resist a subtle taunt, and hoping to lighten the mood somewhat.

Susan's plate rattled as her utensils hit the table, and she glared at him furiously.

Edmund looked up, "What?"

She rose from the table, stomping away towards the counter. Lucy spoke, "That was unkind."

"It was a joke," he retorted whiningly. "Come on, Lu. We all found it a great jest at the time, did we not?" He grinned, speaking mockingly, "'The bolt of Tash falls from above!'" He paused, "Brother, please, tell her I am right in this."

Peter remained hidden behind his paper, determinedly not involving himself in the conversation, "I was absent if you remember." The top of the paper fell back, revealing his face, "Though I do think reminding Susan of that was in rather poor taste."

"Well it was rotten of her to blame me for this!"

The High King gave him a look, and he grumbled an apology.

Peter leaned on the table, speaking authoritatively, "How we came here, or whose fault is was does not matter. What matters is remaining united, that we might discover a way back as quickly as possible. Infighting will accomplish nothing." He retreated back behind his paper.

His brother's face was grave, "I just thought of something troubling. If we do get back, do you suppose we might remain children?" A somber silence settled over the table, everyone privately thinking about this new concern.

Lucy spoke as she rose, "The only way it profits us to worry about _that_ is if we _get_ back." She returned to the stove to cook a second batch.

Peter nodded, "Our sister is right. I only fear that the giants might take advantage of the lapse in leadership and rebel again." He paused, frustratedly turning the page, "Or Calormen might invade. The sooner we return the better."

An ear-shattering shriek interrupted the conversation. Mrs Macready stood in the doorway, staring in horror at Lucy. "Get down from there! Get down this instant!" She rushed over, lifting the girl off the chair and setting her on the floor. She hurriedly turned off the kerosene, then started to scold, "What were you thinking?! You could have been hurt and then what I should like to know! Little girls should never, _never_ go near a lit stove! I don't know what your mother allows at home but I shan't have it in my kitchen!" The four stared at her agape as she then turned to dress down Peter, "And you! Shame on you! As the eldest you should be keeping an eye on these things! Have you forgotten what I told you just last week? 'Don't damage anything.' She could have burned the house down! Just wait until the Professor hears about this." She paused, "Have you nothing to say for yourself?" The other Pevensies' gazes traveled from the angry housekeeper to the High King, waiting to see his reaction.

Nor were they disappointed. His shocked expression at being addressed in such a manner quickly dissolved into his kingliest look, he raised his chin and spoke casually, as though she were almost beneath his notice, "I might remark, Madam, that you are a very disagreeable woman."

Dead silence followed. The housekeeper's mouth opened and closed repeatedly, in a way that made her appear remarkably like a fish. Finally she let out an angry huff and a "Well!" then left the room.

Lucy spoke into the silence, "I daresay she is off to speak to Professor Kirke."

The younger boy responded, "Let her. What should we care for her opinion? It will all be forgotten in an hour or two." He turned to Peter, who now looked somewhat troubled, "Worry not, My Lord. She knows naught of what she speaks."

The elder was unconvinced, "I fear I have just made us an enemy. An enemy that was best not made." He paused, "We have no power here. We would do well to remember it." He sighed, "I fear I lost my head rather. I hope it does not cost us too dearly."

* * *

Peter found himself summoned to the study a short while later, where the Professor sat, as ever, peering over his glasses and beard with a book in his hand. One of the three young maids, Ivy, announced the boy, bobbed a curtsy, and left, closing the door after her.

Peter watched the door as it slowly swung closed with a finalistic click before turning to face his great-uncle. He had already decided his course; no need for them all to suffer for his foolish, immature transgression.

"You seem to have very much upset Mrs Mcready."

The boy nodded apologetically, "I am sorry, sir."

"She threatened to quit."

"I am very, very sorry for it."

"She has demanded that you be punished rather severely, 'To teach that boy manners' I believe she said."

Peter smiled faintly, apologetically, then spoke, his gaze turning slightly from the old man's eyes to somewhere on the floor beside him, "I fear… I am unused to being addressed in such a manner. My shock became evident in my behavior." He paused, "Most certainly I should not wish to deprive you of your housekeeper, sir. It is my dearest wish to make amends in any way possible."

The professor stared at him, then spoke, motioning towards a nearby chair. "Take a seat."

He paused as the other accepted the proffered chair, eyeing the boy quizzically, "How old are you, Peter?"

Peter, who was not at all certain of the answer, attempted to skirt the question, "Um… do you not know?"

"I am asking you."

The boy stood silent for a moment, thinking to himself, _Well, we got there in…'6 was it? I am twenty-eight now… that would make me…_ At last he spoke, hesitant, with a furrow in his brow, as though he was not at all confidant in the results of his math, "Thirteen?"

"You do not sound very sure of yourself." The old man paused, "How old are you really?"

"I fear I do not know your meaning, sir."

"Well…" He tilted his head questioningly, gesturing with one hand, "You seem… different. More mature. Your accent's changed a bit. And I do not recall you speaking in this manner yesterday." He paused, "I also know time does not pass when you go through the wardrobe. So, how old are you?"

Peter was silent for a long time, unsure of how much he wanted to tell this man. He remembered vaguely how much they had confided in him before, but time had passed, things had changed, and the adult who before had seemed so trustworthy now appeared to the wary king to be a potential security breach. There was also a vast difference between asking him to mediate in a case of concern about his sibling's sanity and entrusting him with details about everything that had happened and how the group had changed. Why should the Professor believe him, after all? Still… he had seemed strangely accepting of the bizarre tales he had been party to before, and they were in desperate need of an ally. Decision made, he began to speak.

"We have been gone a long time. I am now nearly thirty, and my siblings are all grown. I apologize for the incident with your housekeeper. She had been very rude to Lucy and to me. I fear that I was taken aback and lost my head. Truly, I had forgotten her very existence until this morning." He paused, "Sir, we must return with all haste. We are kings and queens in Narnia, and I fear our enemies plans should we remain absent. If there is anything that you know about that land and the methods of coming and going from it that you have not told us, I beg you to share it now."

Digory Kirke was quiet, studying the boy before him. Aside from Polly, he had never discussed his own adventure, nor had he ever meant to. It was the sort of thing that might get one committed. And yet… something told him Peter could be trusted. He sighed, "Well then, sit down. I suspect this may take us a while."

Once they were both situated, he began, "This is a story that happened long ago when your grandfather was a child…"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello everyone. Thanks for reading, for the follows, the favorites, and the reviews. Could more people review next time, please? They mean a lot and really give me a lot more incentive to write. Either way, **BlackSky83** : I'm so sorry that it took so long for me to update last chapter. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I hope that you like what I have planned. **Glenstorm63** : Edmund is my favorite aficionado of sarcasm, snark, and sass. Case in point: His running commentary on Eustace's idiocy in Dawn Treader. Yeah, I feel really sorry for Susan. She never was as adventurously minded as the others, and the repeated visits really tolled on her. She didn't deserve that. Read on… **Alicia Olivia Mirza** : Thanks! Have another!

I do not own The Chronicles of Narnia or its characters.

* * *

Chapter Three: The Adventures in Narnia and What came of it

* * *

The curious tale which the Professor told Peter I will not recount here, as it is written elsewhere, in a book called _The Magician's Nephew,_ and those who are curious might read it there _._ Once he had finished Peter sat silently for some time, somewhat stunned and attempting to sort through his thoughts. Finally he spoke, "You…" He paused, "You brought Jadis?"

The old man's face was pleading, "I didn't know what she was. Polly told me not to, but I didn't listen. She looked so beautiful… I didn't realize my mistake until it was too late. She was… magnificent, sitting there. I couldn't look away. She drew me in, like a moth to a flame, with unfortunately similar results."

"But why tell me all this? Such tales are rarely told without object." Peter remained slightly suspicious.

Digory nodded, "It was time. The truth can't stay buried forever." He looked down towards the floor, and for the first time Peter saw the guilty weight which bowed the old man's shoulders, the mist in his eyes that revealed the continued pain of a transgression so far in the past. Peter thought of all the destruction and death that had resulted from one child's thoughtless, selfish act at the dawn of time, the ramifications that continued to reverberate into the present. He thought of Edmund, likewise fooled and hurt, who he suspected had never healed as fully as he pretended, who tried to make up for one moment's mistake by forever being their staunchest ally, always throwing himself at the enemy to save the rest. All the endless fighting to root out Jadis's supporters, everything that had ever gone wrong, could have been prevented so easily. A single, small bell in an empty, dead room had decided the fate of worlds.

There were many things the boy could have said, many things he wanted to ask. Chief among them was asking if the Professor knew the extent of what he had done. Peter could feel anger rising within him.

He thought again of the now-small child in the other room, so easily taken in. It could have happened to anyone, really. He liked to think that he himself would never have fallen for it, but what did he really know of that woman's seemingly hypnotic allure? He knew that he now wouldn't, with his current knowledge he would have known her for a witch at once and wouldn't have gotten close enough, but as a naive child? He might have come under her control as easily as Edmund or Digory.

Finally the anger faded and he answered sadly, "You were hardly the last to be fooled by her. She was a conniving witch, and many came under her spell. You must not blame yourself."

Jadis had been dead for many years. No one could change the past, and nothing would be accomplished by allowing it to affect the present. They spoke further, and Peter assured him that the others would not be informed unless he wished it.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, breakfast had ended and Susan volunteered to do the washing-up, much to the younger girl's relief.

Edmund stealthily sneaked up beside her after a few minutes, the chair he was dragging somewhat taking away from that stealth. Susan glared at him momentarily and looked away, "What do you want?"

Her voice was tight and angry.

The little boy carefully positioned the chair at the counter and climbed on top of it, breathing a sigh of relief as he finally looked down at his sister. It had felt strange to be shorter than her, and at last the world felt back in balance. He spoke simply as he picked up a wet cup and rubbed at it with a cloth, "I thought I might help you." He paused, trying to think how to proceed. "Sister, I fear this change has not been easy on any of us. I spoke rashly and harshly, and I am sorry for it. I did not mean to cause pain."

She looked at him, finally relenting, "I'm sorry too. It isn't really your fault we ended up here; we all decided to go."

Edmund waited, still uncertain, "So, shall we be friends again?"

The girl smiled faintly, "All right."

"Come here," Edmund turned to her, pulling her into an embrace. Susan buried her head in the familiar comfort of her brother's shoulder, unable to keep the tears from her voice. "I just want to go home."

He cradled the back of her head with one hand, his other hand stolen around her back. "I know. We all do."

They stayed there for some time, then quickly and awkwardly pulled away as Peter and the Professor entered the room.

"All right." Peter announced, "The Professor and I have had a discussion, and we have come to an arrangement."

That secured everyone's attention, and the pair at the sink dried their hands and moved to the table.

"Well, Peter?" Said a voice, "We are all listening."

Peter glanced around at the attentive faces, then deferred to the old man beside him, "Professor?"

That individual gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, then launched into his speech, "Well," He said, studying them all piercingly, "Well then." He paused, sighing, "Peter has filled me in somewhat on your… situation, and I should love to hear the rest of it, but beforehand there are a few other things to discuss. First of all… I trust you have all learned something." On that he eyed Edmund, who suddenly felt very small and awkward. "I trust that you believe your sister now, eh? Don't you boy."

The child managed to stutter a shocked reply, "Of course sir. It has been many years since it was otherwise." Only afterwards did he remember that the time before Narnia, for him a dim and distant memory, was only yesterday in the mind of Professor Kirke.

He continued, "Good. You do seem much improved and a great deal nicer, if you will forgive me for saying so. Now. Your brother has informed me of a few particulars, and I feel that, given we are all adults, we can operate on a level, as equals; you deserve that much at least. I will discuss this with Mrs Macready. I won't tell her the truth of course, but I'll tell her something. Hmph! She'll probably just think it some silly whim of mine; she believes me half daft already. Regardless, I can assure you that you will not be disturbed."

Peter nodded, "We thank you, sir."

"Very well. Enough of that now, someone bring me a chair, I'm old you know. Ah, thank you, Lucy. Tell me of Narnia. What happened? How did it all transpire? Tell me everything and leave nothing out, for I dearly wish to hear it all."

And so they told him. Peter started it, and one by one the others gained confidence and picked up the tale. They did leave some things out, that seemed trivial or too personal to tell, but the important parts got through. They almost left out Edmund's betrayal, but he himself interrupted to mention it, with a white face and somewhat averted eyes. He said later that he felt it was too important a point to be left out, and perhaps he also hoped to offer some explanation for his horrid behavior of (for the Professor) the past several days. Regardless he did it, and completely missed how Digory's eyes fixed on him, full of sorrow and compassion. In any case, they all learned more, as each heard pieces of the story where he had either not been present or had not been paying attention. And in the end they gave up on telling a coherent story entirely, but fell into reminiscing of hunts and balls, of adventures and certain battles. Of Christmases where the evergreen trees came, gleefully decorating Cair Paravel with red berries and green clippings of their leafy hair, and all had a remarkably merry time, the glad Narnian carols easily drowning out the snow howling outside.

They almost forgot they were not at home, so deep did the memories take them, and soon all were drowning in laughter and happy smiles. As they told the tale their speech grew less and less Narnian, and more and more ordinary, as if the telling leeched it out of them, until by the end they sounded very nearly like their old selves.

Finally Susan's smile disappeared, "Sir," she said, "I just remembered. I think we took some fur coats out of your wardrobe when we went to Narnia. I'm sorry, but we were so cold, and we thought it would be all right."

Digory Kirke smiled, shaking his head, "Oh I wouldn't worry much about _that._ I'm glad someone could get the use of them. Not as if I was going to."

"Do you think-" Lucy interjected, "-That we could get back through into Narnia?"

It was Peter who responded. Being the oldest he best remembered the time before and what they had originally learned, "That I remember, the wardrobe only seems to work when one is not _trying_ to use it."

The other boy ruefully contemplated his food (Edmund had procure some bread and butter while they were talking), "Well, that's no good. I'm trying to get through right now and I'm just sitting here eating toast."

"No," said the Professor, "I don't think it will be any good trying to go back through the wardrobe door to get the coats."

Edmund muttered that he hadn't been thinking of the coats, but the old man was somewhat hard of hearing and did not notice. He continued, "You won't get into Narnia again by _that_ route. Nor would the coats be much use by now if you did!"

Peter interjected, "But do you think we will ever get back? It seems wrong, you know, to spend all that time and then be plucked out and banished forever. We have family, friends, responsibilities… They'll be worried about us! We cannot just abandon them!"

The Professor's head snapped up, as though only just realizing that he had spoken, "Eh? What's that?" There was a pause as Peter explained all over again. "Yes, of course you'll get back to Narnia again someday. Once a king in Narnia, always a king in Narnia. But don't go trying to use the same route twice. Indeed don't _try_ to get there at all. It'll happen when you're not looking for it. And don't talk too much about it even among yourselves. And don't mention it to anyone else unless you find that they've had adventures of the same sort themselves."

They all were rather confused by this, and a voice (there was some dispute afterwards whose it was) asked, "But how will we know?"

"What's that? How will you know? Oh you'll _know_ all right. Odd things they say - even their looks – will let the secret out. Keep your eyes open. Bless me, what _do_ they teach them at these schools?"

And perhaps this was all good advice, and perhaps they should have followed it, but at any rate they didn't, for it is a difficult thing to not think of the nation one considers one's own, even if you are trapped in another world with limited prospects of ever getting there again. They tried, of course, but not very hard, and Narnia became an ever more frequent topic of conversation.

In any case, the following time was relatively pleasant. The weather stayed fair, and so there was hiking in the woods and on the moor, and indoors they passed the time with reading (their knowledge of our world had become a bit rusty and the older ones felt they ought to freshen up before the fall term) or listening to war news on the wireless, or in other varied pursuits. It was a large house, and even the Professor did not know all the things in it, so there was a great deal to do.

It is true that every so often each, by himself, would go and hopefully try the wardrobe (leaving the door open so the others would know what happened to them if they got through), but for the most part they tried to put it from their minds, even as every thing that they saw reminded them of their home. Peter, it is worth noting, did not try even as much as the others, but his reasons for this we will learn presently.

They were so well occupied that it was some days, indeed over a week, before someone asked the question that they had all been trying not to think of.

"Do you think they have found the horses yet?"

* * *

"My Lords!"

A tall bearded man with long, dark hair turned to walk towards the speaker, a stubby dwarf with a red beard, which despite being tucked in his belt hung to the ground and dragged if he stooped. He was joined in the small cluster by the Lord Peridan, one of the four monarchs' closest advisors. The two humans had been present when the riderless horses returned to the castle and had largely taken control of the search effort. The three stood in a small clearing in the vast forest of the Western Wood, the only object of note being a single strange wrought iron lamppost sticking up out of the ground. It was precisely like those one might find lining the streets of London, and its light looked dim and small in the full light of day.

"What is it?" asked the former. The dwarf held out a dainty brown leather glove, an intricate device engraved in gold on the back. His expression was grim, "We found this."

Peridan nearly jumped on it in his excitement, "That is Queen Susan's glove!"

The dwarf nodded, "It was in that thicket over there."

Baltan took the item from him, handling it tenderly as he studied it, "She must have dropped it." The man looked up, confused, "But why in the world would they dismount and go in there?"

The dwarf shook his head, "We don't know. We also found sword marks, as if one of the kings hacked a path for them, so it seems likely they went that way. The hounds are searching it, and we should have a report shortly, assuming they can keep their minds on anything for more than a minute."

Peridan's face was flushed, he started to pace and he seemed to be getting more agitated by the minute, "Oh, why didn't they take retainers? I warned them it was unwise. Why did they not listen, the fools?!"

The Archenlander turned to face him, balling the glove in his fist as he spoke, "Now is not the time to lose hope. The search is hardly begun. We tracked them this far, to the Lantern Waste, and as soon as the hounds return we shall have tracked them still further. We are closing in, I can feel it. In all likelihood someone was injured in the chase and they were forced to remain until help arrived."

The dwarf broke in with the obvious problem, "If they were in need of help then why did Queen Susan not blow her horn? Or have one return for aid while the others waited? Or have the injured party ride along with another? And the High King's sword was still fastened to his saddle. This business is altogether too strange for my liking."

Both men glared at the pessimistic dwarf, wishing that he had not mentioned what they had both been thinking.

Fortunately, their dark, worried thoughts were shortly interrupted by the baying of the hounds, and the dogs ran to surround them, yapping and baying in a deafening doggy cacophony. Perhaps they should not have been wagging their tails as happily as they were given the seriousness of the situation, but dogs, even talking dogs of Narnia, are easily excited on anything resembling a hunt and no one really held it against them.

"Well, my friends?" Baltan inquired, "What have you found? Is there aught of note?"

The reply was nearly unintelligible, so interspersed was it with panting and gleeful barks, as all attempted to speak at once. "Scent! Over there! Runs out in the brush!"

The other man spoke, "What do you mean by this? Was it wiped out? Does it become too old to follow?"

"No, fresh! Suddenly ends!" There were more, similar exclamations from the rest of the party, along with a cry of, "Squirrel!" from one easily distractible individual.

The dwarf scowled, "Couldn't keep your minds on it, eh? Well, I suppose that's what you get when you send a bunch of slobbering idiots to do a man's work. Why I ought to-"

"Peace, Master Dwarf." Peridan interrupted. "They have done what they can, and it was fine work." He turned to the hounds, "I thank you, sirs. I have but one request further. Would you be good enough to take the Lord Baltan and I to the place where the trail ended?"

They answered in the affirmative and took off baying, exclaiming, "The chase, friends! Come! The chase is on!" The two men looked at each other and sighed before following them.

You or I would not have seen anything in the path on which the hounds led them, but the trained eyes of the Narnian and Archenlandish lords easily spotted the marks, a broken twig, a hint of a bootprint marring the deep loam. The dogs, however, needed no such crude signs and made their way rapidly, noses to the ground, to the place where the trail ended, an unremarkable opening in the brush just large enough to step into. Here the trail stopped.

Now the pair saw just how curious it really was. One moment the trail was clear, the group obviously had not been trying to hide their tracks, the next… nothing. It was as if they had vanished from the world.

Baltan quietly spoke to his companion as they knelt side by side, studying the tracks, "Well? What think you?"

Peridan glanced around to be sure no one was listening, then responded, "I much as I hate to admit it, our dwarvish friend is right. Time has illuminated nothing, and the web becomes more convoluted rather than less." He paused, standing to examine the space, "I see no signs of a struggle."

The other stood as well, staring up through the interwoven branches towards the sky, "What about from above? Could something have lifted them up? That would explain the sudden end of the trail."

"No, no." Replied the former, "Look at the branches. Nothing that large could have possibly gotten in here." He looked back at the ground, "And there should also be some sign of a fight in that case. Scuff marks, perhaps."

Baltan had to admit he was correct, "Well then what is our plan?"

Peridan paused, then sighed, "Someone ought to take our news, or lack of it, back to the castle. They deserve word. Regardless the sun shall soon enough be set, and darkness will not do for this work." He started towards the slight trail that led back to the clearing, before stopping as the other failed to follow, "Wilt thou come, my lord?"

The younger man inclined his head, not moving from his position on the ground, "By your leave, I will not. I will remain here and continue the search as long as I can. It looks to be a good night and I shall sleep here."

Peridan stared at him, then relented, "Very well. I see little profit in it, but you must keep your own council." He paused, gazing at the spot where the trail ended. Finally he spoke, "This is poor news to take to my lady. I fain would not bring it, especially in her condition." He paused, "Nevertheless, she deserves to know. I shall return in the morning."

Baltan nodded an acknowledgement as the other departed. Perhaps the Narnian was right about the futility of his activities, but he found he could not give up the search. He remembered all too well the ways the four had helped his family. There were many times that Archenland had suffered uprisings and invasions, and would have been destroyed were it not for the aid of its larger neighbor. He remembered the day they had brought his young cousin, the crown prince, thought to be dead, home to Anvard. The day when, much longer ago, he had risen as a boy to find the world unfrozen. He had never even seen leaves and flowers before, and he had asked his father what it all meant. His father had never seen such things either, but he had said that it meant the witch's hold was broken and the curse was ended. And then the coronation not long after, where he had met the curious young rulers, and in particular the beautiful raven-haired queen that he had now grown to love. He owed them all so much. Baltan thought of the four, in all likelihood pining away in a dungeon somewhere and felt a determination rise within him. He didn't care if it took a day or a lifetime. He would find them.


End file.
